


The Storm

by Resoan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:25:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resoan/pseuds/Resoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post In Your Heart Shall Burn. Velahari and party are camped in the Hinterlands, finishing a few odds and ends before moving on. A storm blows in at night, and Velahari takes the opportunity to explain her affinity for lightning and storm magic to Solas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storm

The Hinterlands were blissfully silent as dark, grey clouds roiled across otherwise star-dotted skies, though such a silence was abruptly shattered as lightning crackled in the air and thunder boomed not half a second later. Their tents were appropriately lined with furs and skins to keep water out, but even then, it managed to seep into the ground beneath their rolls – Velahari had grown up amid such conditions, however, and it wasn't a bother so much as an expectation. Cassandra and Varric were...not quite as accustomed, however.

The Seeker never complained once, though Velahari needed only glance in the warrior's direction to see the slight scowl on her lips, the tighter set of her jaw, and the careful, tentative way she tiptoed around the larger puddles or sinkholes filled with mud. She was no pampered, perfumed Orlesian lady to be certain, but the fact remained that she had grown up nobility in Nevarra, and earning her place as Right Hand of the Divine had afforded her certain luxuries as well.

Perhaps it was Varric's reticence that gave away a similar dislike; he was more subdued as he moved through the camp, blond hair damp and clinging to the back of his neck before he finally announced he was tired – of this shit may very well have been muttered under his breath – before heading under the flap of the tent and the semi-warm bed-roll awaiting him. “Sleep well, Inquisitor.” It was Solas who spoke to her, his tone pleasant and half-amused if she were any judge, though she offered a small smile and a nod before he followed after Varric into the tent the men would share.

Thankfully, they'd managed to piggy-back close to a main Inquisition camp: close enough that they needn't have worried for their safety, but far enough away that no one felt overly-suffocated. And so the Inquisitor returned to the tent she shared with Cassandra, the warrior already asleep and snoring softly, a hand pressed lightly across her belly. Of all of them, Cassandra had taken the most damage that day, even if Solas was more than capable of healing her afterwards; still, such an expense of energy required copious amounts to re-energize, and Velahari smiled softly at the snoozing Seeker. If asked who the hardest-working member of the Inquisition was, Cassandra would easily be at the top of the list, perhaps neck-and-neck with Leliana.

It took Velahari only a short time to slip out of her armor, to slide her hands back to where her hair was tied, but even then as her back met the ground and she closed her eyes, sleep wouldn't come. She could feel the electricity tingeing the air, could smell the scent of the storm as it closed in on the Hinterlands, and Velahari sincerely doubted she would be sleeping that evening. Unlike many, she did not fear storms: not lightning nor rain nor wind; she reveled in them: unleashed magic she always otherwise kept tightly bound to herself and under control.

Time passed, perhaps an hour or two, before she cast her gaze over towards Cassandra inquiringly – she wouldn't put it past the Seeker to somehow manage to awaken and scold her for leaving the tent not only in the middle of the night but also in the middle of a storm of all things. The deluge had already soaked through the ground, and it showed no signs of letting up: the winds were howling, thunder growled, and lightning illumined the skies and the background.

With a sharp intake of breath, Velahari pushed away the fur from on top of her and sat upright, crimson tendrils of hair spilling out across her shoulders as she turned for one final look at Cassandra who was still sleeping quietly, even as she lifted a hand to bat at something presumably itching her nose. The elf breathed easier once she stepped out of the tent, even as cold rainwater slithered down the back of her fabric tunic, even as it drenched and flattened her hair until it stuck to every inch of skin, and even as it made her shiver and gasp out a quiet breath of surprise, a small puff of visible steam accompanying the sound. She hadn't anticipated how cold it would be, but Creators...she had missed this.

Her arms wound around her torso as she stepped out further, her feet slick with mud and grass though it didn't matter; she hadn't felt more connected to her clan, her people, or herself since first being tossed to the flames with the Inquisition. With a wordless, breathless smile, she turned her face upwards until the raindrops fell onto her cheeks, onto her eyelids and her nose, some even collecting and dangling precariously from her eyelashes before sliding down her neck.

When the Keeper had first found her in such a position, she'd been exasperated, fondly so, but exasperated all the same; Velahari's lips parted slightly, soundless elven phrases on her lips – phrases the Keeper had used to describe her first...excursion into the storm. The ache was a distant one that came about while thinking of her Keeper, but at least she knew the clan was very much alive and doing well – thanks to Leliana and her network of spies that passed messages between them.

Perhaps it was the familiarity of the sensation that crawled up her spine that caused her to glance over her shoulder, though she'd not truly expected anyone to be there, watching, either wholeheartedly amused by her antics or annoyed that she would likely be sick for a few days afterwards. “You are aware it is raining, I suppose,” Solas remarked, the corners of his lips lifting upwards despite himself. Had the elf hair, Velahari imagined it would have been unkempt, and she made a valiant effort of stifling the smile that threatened to stretch across her lips at the brief image that flitted across her mind's eye.

He currently leaned against one of the sturdy, wooden posts holding his and Varric's tent, arms crossed loosely across his chest; a tarp jutted out just past him, however: successfully keeping him dry as rainwater seeped even deeper into her skin. “Is it?” Velahari asked, eyebrows furrowing, though laughter welled up within her chest. His expression twisted into something anticipatory then, and his arms gestured minutely in her direction: tacitly asking why she was out in the rain.

Her smile softened, and she stepped closer until she joined him under the tarp, Velahari careful not to get too close – she doubted he'd appreciate the contact when all it would do would get his own clothing wet. Sure, the pair had traded flirtatious banter and phrases from time to time, but she wasn't the type to press the issue – especially not now in the middle of the night, in the middle of a bloody storm, even if she'd always had better luck during storms than calm weather.

“It...will sound strange,” she warned him with a vague smile, her eyes catching his as she turned to better look at him.

“Stranger than an elven artifact blowing a massive rift into the fade, wielded by an ancient Tevinter magister tainted by the Blight?” Solas's eyebrow was lifted by the time he finished, and Velahari chuckled quietly.

“I suppose you've a point there,” she informed him, and she just barely caught the way his lips twitched: it wasn't quite a smile, though she could see the amusement in his eyes. “When my Keeper first taught me the more...offensive spells – fire, ice, and the like – I had no real problems. It was mainly as a defensive measure, in case we stumbled across bandits or unfriendly humans as the clan moved.”

“Lightning always...eluded me, though.” She paused there, lips pursing as she felt herself caught in a memory from several years earlier: a teenaged elf, vallaslin fresh on her young face, distressed and frustrated enough to yell at the absent gods for their lack of help and direction. A thoughtful expression took up residence on Solas's features: a slight tilt of his head, concerned eyes; he found it strange, truth be told: she seemed to favor lightning as they traveled. She pressed onwards without glancing at him, green eyes glancing out over the wet landscape as subdued thunder bellowed in the distance: not unlike a drunk about to fall over his last tankard for the night and sleep off his hangover.

“I was so frustrated I wandered away from the camp to be alone – to sulk, really, and the Keeper didn't stop me.” She shook her head then, her tone full of fondness even if it was clear she felt foolish for her memory now. “I could feel it, could sense it just beyond my grasp, but whenever I reached, it would slip away – like water dripping through my fingers.” When she lifted her head to peer up at him, she suddenly felt a wave of uncertainty; it was a silly, little memory, and it felt more and more likely as time passed that he only wished to return to his bed-roll and the Fade as it surely awaited him.

His expression erased any doubts she possessed at the moment, though; he'd turned towards her, listening intently, with as soft a smile on his lips as she'd ever seen. It took Velahari a moment to still her rapidly-beating heart until it was back under her control, and again, she pressed onward. “Well, as I'm sure you can imagine, it started raining while I was away from the clan.” Her smile was self-effacing, somehow ironically amused, and she shook her head again at her own youthful indiscretions; “There was...quite a bit of lightning during that storm, and I would have been struck by it had I not reacted. Even now, I can't quite find the words to describe it; I felt the heat, the static, but not pain – I couldn't even tell you if I simply diffused it somehow, or if it was redirected, but after that, lightning was as natural as taking a breath.”

“And you've been fond of storms ever since,” Solas remarked not unkindly, his expression a clear cross between surprised and impressed.

“I have.” His smile dissipated as he noted the way she shivered, and though she rubbed her hands up her arms, it did little but smear the wet material over her clammy and cool skin. “I always seem to have better luck in storms, believe it or not. I wonder what this one will bring.”

“For the time being, it looks like a cold night, and perhaps a lingering cough in the days to come.” The serious expression on his face lasted only a moment before Velahari's lips parted in playful outrage; their chuckles meshed together, quietly of course – though it was doubtful even louder laughter would have woken their dwarven friend whose snores could be heard outside the tent.

“Anyway,” Velahari finally murmured, her smile admittedly tired as she directed it at Solas. “I'm sorry if I woke you, and thank you for listening to my silly story.”

He held her gaze for a few moments, lingering and implicative and somehow capable of sending her heart into another flurry of rapid beats before his lips parted and he replied. “Thank you for telling me. And, if I'm permitted to say, I did not find it silly in the slightest. It is a mage of rare talent who is able to bend the natural forces to her will, to be unaffected by them, even if only once.”

And not for the first time since meeting Solas, since taking the time to speak with him did Velahari feel rather intimidated, feel almost embarrassed, especially now that he'd essentially given her a compliment. “You're too kind, Solas. Truly.” She could see him hesitate then: a breath stilling in his chest as though he thought to say something in return, though he let it pass after a moment; instead, his eyes softened, and he shook his head.

“I speak only the truth, Inquisitor.” His tone was quiet, as soft as the look he leveled in her direction, and Velahari was suddenly quite aware of the distance between them, or rather, the lack of it.

Their gazes slid together, fitting as seamlessly as otherwise-jagged pieces of a puzzle, and for several heartbeats, Velahari forgot how to breathe; his was a piercing gaze: stripping away the layers and layers of protection she'd painstakingly erected for the sole purpose of keeping herself safe in a world so beguiling and threatening, but even then, she couldn't bring herself to look away, even if her feet were beginning to numb from the cold and the wet. There was wisdom in his eyes, a wisdom she couldn't even begin to understand, but it shrouded the pain, and she had to wonder: what was he hiding? What had caused him such pain?

She chided herself moments later: such secrets were not for her to know, not now, and perhaps not ever. It was that thought which brought her back to herself, even if she felt fully scalded from their shared look not a few seconds before; Velahari blinked away, gaze falling off to the side, and had she chanced back to look at Solas, she may have caught the slight, fleeting frown that crossed his lips as she looked away.

“I...suppose I ought to get back to my tent.” The smile that slid across her lips was mechanical, though it softened when she briefly caught his eyes once more and began to step past him; “Good night, Solas.” Not for the first time that evening, Solas looked as though he were poised to speak: to say something that came easily to his tongue, even if it didn't come quite so easily to say aloud; as it was, Velahari had made it a few steps past the tarp overhang, and she was grateful the rain had mostly slowed.

Fat water droplets fell intermittently from the sky, plopping into oversized puddles and dropping coldly onto the tip of Velahari's nose; her arms wound more firmly around her torso, her jaw gritting a little tightly as a shiver raked down her spine. It was lucky that she'd brought a spare change of clothing, or else her night would indeed be miserable, and Solas's jape from earlier would have been proven true the following morning. Just as her lips twisted into a small grin at the thought, however, Solas's voice rumbled, even louder than the thunder that grumbled half a second after he spoke.

Velahari paused then, the smile dissolving into lips pursed in confusion as she rounded on her heel, eyebrows furrowing; the elf had inexplicably left his safe haven out of the rain and the storm to follow after her, and the look he leveled was unlike any she'd yet seen from him. There was depth to it she couldn't rightly recognize, a glint that was not altogether benign, and a close crack of lightning lit up his eyes. “You should go back,” she told him quietly, somehow managing to stifle the urge to lift her hand and brush her fingertips along his brow where water now beaded until it slid down to his jaw. “You don't want to get wet, do you?” Her question was quiet, subdued, yet still playful, her head angling towards his.

Her question softened his expression, though there was still an intensity to it she could not deny; “I scarcely think a little water will prove my downfall, Lethal'lan.” He moved slowly, deliberately, and any concern of wet attire was promptly pushed away as his arms rounded her torso, pulled her closer, and his nose brushed her cheek, lips hovering at the base of her ear. “You, on the other hand...” He purposefully allowed his words to taper off, and when his hands eased up her back, and his face angled down towards her own, she eased into the intimate touches with as much delicacy as she was capable at the moment.

The motions of her hands were tentative: not fumbling even as a novice as she was, and when his lips slipped onto hers, one of her hands had already snaked up his chest, followed the line of his jaw and curled at the back of his neck where it remained as her eyes shut and her heart pounded quite audibly against her rib-cage: if Solas could not hear it, then he could most certainly feel it against his own.

The kiss was simultaneously gentle and demanding: as though Solas himself teetered between control and giving in to more carnal desires; it left her breathless, overwhelmed with warmth that wasn't only physical, and her lips parted as the kiss came to a close: unable to draw breath properly otherwise if only for the moment. They remained locked in each other's embrace for a long while, ignoring the rain and the dwindling remnants of the storm: foreheads pressed together and arms firmly around the other as their breaths mingled between them, a visible cloud in the cold air of southern Ferelden.

Velahari exhaled slowly, quietly, the hand currently propped at the base of his Solas's neck winding down until it cupped his cheek, her fingertips idly tracing over a cheekbone. Solas let out a quiet albeit surprised sound from the unexpected touch, and just as his eyes peered open to gaze down at her, Velahari stood on tiptoes to press one final, lingering kiss to his lips. His hold on her tightened, as though he knew they would part seconds later, though when she did eventually pull away, he released her however reluctantly; his hand lingered in hers as she turned away, and just as her fingertips were about to drop from his, he called out to her. “Velahari...,” his voice trailed off as she took a step past him, her smile warm as she turned to look over her shoulder at him. Their fingertips still touched, still curled delicately and somehow protectively around the others', and Velahari squeezed gently before responding.

“We'll talk in the morning, I promise.” Solas unwillingly allowed her hand to slide out of his, and he watched her intently as she slunk back into her tent – though not without turning back and offering him another smile, of course. The very first thing she did after the tent flap closed was to peel the wet clothes off of her person; it took a great deal of maneuvering in the small space, especially without inadvertently stepping on Cassandra, though she did eventually manage. She slipped into the dry change of clothes she'd thought to bring before heading back for her bed-roll which was surprisingly dry, Velahari was pleased to discover; sleep was easier to find as her eyes shut, and as she rolled onto her side, she didn't even make an attempt to keep the kiss from her dreams.

* * *

 

“I ---wish to wa- ---. Varric!” It was Cassandra's voice Velahari woke to the following morning, though she could discern only bits and pieces with sleep obscuring her hearing. A hand quickly lifted to wipe at her eyes as she forced herself upright, damp hair sticking to the back of her neck uncomfortably – it had apparently not finished drying from her...nighttime antics. A guilty grin spread across her lips at the memory, though it faded into something softer, fonder, and such was how Cassandra found her a moment later, dark eyes widening slightly.

“Oh, you're awake. I do hope Varric didn't wake you. I kept trying to tell him you needed your rest, but-”

“It's fine, Cassandra,” Velahari insisted, the warrior nodding her understanding. “I'll be ready to pack up camp and move soon.”

“Understood, Inquisitor.” The elf frowned at Cassandra's back as she turned and went back outside – she'd thought they had moved past being so formal, but she'd been acting oddly lately. Perhaps they could speak later? That thought easily drifted into another, and she had to wonder when she would find the time – and an excuse Varric and Cassandra would accept – to speak with Solas alone. It was a notion she mulled over as she pulled on her armor: clipped on buckles and braces and slipped her feet into boots that had soles: she doubted she would ever become accustomed to them, even if they were a fair bit more practical on treacherous terrain.

“And sleeping beauty emerges,” Varric teased when Velahari finally stepped out into the sunlight, her hands lifted and currently tying back her hair to keep it out of her face.

“Apologies for keeping my captive audiences awaiting,” Velahari replied with a rakish grin and a cocked eyebrow; she'd have bowed mockingly had her hands not been busy and had the pose not had forced her to start over. Varric chuckled at her reply while Cassandra's eyes rolled predictably, though she said nothing: not altogether surprising, really.

A cough directed her attention closer to the other tent, and she could have outright laughed when she saw Solas seated there, slight tremors in his hands as he dropped them from his mouth which he'd covered mere moments before when he'd coughed. “Sounds like someone has a cold,” Velahari replied benignly, though the corners of her lips twisted upwards despite herself, and Solas halfheartedly glared in her direction before another coughing fit had him looking away. Her expression sobered, and she took a few steps closer, clearly concerned; “Are you all right? Perhaps you should sit today out...” She could have predicted he'd vigorously shake his head, refuse her offer, though she merely sighed and nodded.

“I will be all right, Inquisitor.”

Tearing down camp took a little while, though it was aided by scouts of the Inquisition which did help expedite the process; the four of them made their way for the farms outside of Redcliffe afterwards, to inform Master Dennet of his new guard towers and to also look for a buried treasure – Varric had managed to find a map hidden on a hunter's body the previous day.

The man didn't prove terribly amenable to the idea of coming to work for the Inquisition personally, though it took little to sway him – Velahari couldn't keep herself from smiling a bit widely at the grin on Varric's face as he strolled outside and into the sunshine. Finding the treasure on the map was not as easy, though.

A bear prowled around the steppes aimlessly, and with one singular gust of wind it rounded towards them all, catching their scent on the air; Velahari could nearly hear Cassandra sigh as she drew her blade, and she leapt forward just as Varric unleashed a volley of bolts – most of which the bear swatted away angrily, save for one which managed to embed itself into the bear's thick hide. Cassandra raised her shield just in time to block a savage blow, and Velahari raised a barrier around the warrior just as the bear stood on its hind legs and knocked her to her back.

She looked back after a moment, wondering how in Thedas she'd managed to beat Solas to the first barrier, though as the bear made another loud and angry sound, her attention was abruptly turned elsewhere. The beast seemed to shake off every spell she threw in at it: its thick hide repelled the ice, though fire at least seemed to give it pause before rampaging past Cassandra and making a beeline for her.

Velahari was on the ground by the time the bear grunted out its final sound and slumped forward, blood pooling beneath its massive corpse; her hands were tight around her staff, lips parted as she struggled to breathe, though at least she was whole. “Is everyone all right?” It was Cassandra who asked the question, and Varric, for his part, nodded – even if he was mumbled about blood on his coat as he put Bianca away.

Solas...did not appear so lucky; fingers curled around the side of his chest just under his upper arm, and Velahari drew closer when she noticed red dripping between his fingertips. “Everything all right over there, Chuckles?” Varric sounded vaguely concerned, and even Cassandra took a step closer, uncertain how to help.

“Just fine, Serah Tethras. Nothing I cannot heal, I assure you.” His smile was brittle, and though Varric appeared not to believe him, he didn't fight it.

“Why don't you go find the treasure? It ought to be nearby,” Velahari suggested as she reached Solas, a steadying arm rounding his back and hooking around his waist a few inches below the wound. The look he gave her then was ashamed yet grateful, and she helped ease him to the ground as Cassandra and Varric strode away, the map fully opened in the Seeker's hands. “It doesn't look just fine to me,” Velahari murmured quietly as she pulled her arm away, and Solas let out a quiet laugh before wincing seconds later.

“Merely a flesh wound, Inquisitor. I will survive to fight another day, and likely another bear if we're to remain in the Hinterlands.” Velahari sank to her knees at his side and helped him thread his arms out of the knapsack he always carried.

“A flesh wound is still a wound, and I can't imagine it will feel good when you have another coughing fit,” she murmured, pulling out some cleaning rags, enchanted days earlier for just such an occasion – though not without Solas first trying to do so himself and failing.

“And whose fault is the cough, I wonder,” he murmured idly, though there was no malice there. The corner of Velahari's lips quirked then, even if her smile afterwards held hints of remorse.

“I did warn you about the rain last night, you'll recall.” Her fingertips had been gentle as she rolled up the fabric of his armor, and had she been more self-conscious, a flush of red may have overtaken her as well. She had to focus though: now wasn't the time to indulge in memory.

She grimaced at the swipe of bear claws, and began to wipe the blood away in silence, wholly uncertain of what to say. “Thank you.” The sound of his voice broke through her thoughts, and her eyes snapped up to his; “It is not often I am attended, least of all by the Inquisitor herself.”

“I'd prefer if it remained that way – I don't like to see any of my companions wounded.” She was frowning, though she was satisfied when she wiped away the last trail of blood; her fingers lingered on the wounds themselves for mere seconds before magic poured from them and flesh began to knit itself back together. She could hear him inhale sharply, could even feel him stiffen beneath her touch, though she ensured her hand didn't linger once the wound was fully closed. “Good as new,” she informed him, turning her gaze back to the piece of fabric she'd used to clean the wound of blood and wiping the remnants of red from her fingers.

She pointedly tried to ignore the way the silence seemed to fill the space, threatened to drown her in her own uncertainty, though as she pulled back and made to stand, Solas's hand reached for her wrist and held on – not in a harsh grip by any means, though it did keep her in the same position. “We...have not discussed what happened last night,” Solas murmured, though before Velahari could think to respond, Solas pressed on.

“It was foolish and impulsive, Inquisitor: reckless and irresponsible of me, but I cannot bring myself to regret.” There was a heaviness to his tone that Velahari found herself disliking intensely, though she was rather distracted by his words at the moment to give his tone more consideration. “If you will allow me time to consider, I would...see where this path leads.”

He sounded so hesitant, so self-assured that anything of a romantic nature between them would end badly that Velahari herself hesitated, even as her heart thudded against her ribs. She found his eyes slowly, tentatively, easily finding the doubt there as well as the passion she'd felt the previous night, and perhaps against her better judgment, she found herself nodding. “I'm not going anywhere,” she told him softly, her expression following suit. “Take all the time you need.” Solas seemed to breathe easier at her words, and he released her wrist then, fully capable of rising on his own now that Velahari had healed his wound.

They shared another look as they both rose to their feet, uncertain perhaps and certainly nostalgic of the intimacy they'd shared the previous evening, though the sound of Varric's laughter drew their attention and brought the moment to a close. Cassandra appeared vaguely annoyed at whatever the dwarf had said, and Velahari smiled at the pair as they came closer, a parcel in Varric's hands – and undoubtedly the treasure they'd been scouring the area for since leaving Master Dennet's farm.

Another bout of coughing had them all turning back to Solas, and Velahari couldn't, or perhaps wouldn't, stifle the slight grin that pulled at her lips because of it. She'd had no idea she'd find such good luck amidst such terrible, life-altering storms: for what was the Breach if not the most violent storm of all?


End file.
